


What Money Can't Buy

by Ecila



Series: One-Shots [5]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blowjobs, Harry!bachelor, I actually don't think much more than Larry happens, If You Get My Drift, Larry hot and steamy, Liam is a bachelor too, Louis!for sale, M/M, Niall!host (of charity events), Rimming, Sex, There's goNNA BE SEX, Zayn!gorgeous as ever, ha, larry - Freeform, larry stylinson - Freeform, liam is liam, over and over and over again
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 12:07:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3446594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ecila/pseuds/Ecila
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Styles is a young, rich, successful bachelor. So is his friend, Liam.<br/>One day, when Niall throws one of his many charity events, Harry meets this enchanting, gorgeous chestnut feathery-haired and crystal sapphire eyed young lad. And he knows, he wants him.</p>
<p>There'll be a lot of smut, I'd say. :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Money Can't Buy

**Author's Note:**

> So this is one of my older projects, I actually posted it on different websides (Wattpad, Youtube) before. But I didn't have it here and thought, hey, maybe there's someone out there who might like this story of mine and hasn't seen it yet. I personally liked it a lot. I never got to give it a good ending and I might edit the ending and add a bit, but yeah... overall, it's a piece finished long ago. Hope you give it a shot regardless of my (obviously) not-perfect grammar.   
> Again, for those that don't know English is my 3rd language, but I'll pretend it's my first ;D

Harry Styles leans his head against the leather chair, taking a very much needed breath, eyes lingering on the pile of paper work that he’s yet to look through, but really has no energy to attempt doing so. His fingers absentmindedly trace along the pattern of his wooden desk, letting out a bored sigh. It is a dreaded thought, but the success gives Harry not the same kind of aspiring pleasure, like it used to, and he can’t bring himself to enjoy it anymore quite as much as he used to. At some point even his work became somewhat dull. It is why Harry now welcomes all given distraction, such as his best friend bursting through the door with a smile on his face, while his personal bodyguard, in the back of his room, merely flinches by the motion, but stays still otherwise.

“Niall!” and Harry about beams in delight, when he pushes himself of his comfortable leather chair to welcome his best friend in an exaggerated and distracting embrace.

Niall laughs, all Irish charm on full view, as he pats Harry’s back, “Someone missed me?”

“I was bored to death by myself.” Harry replies with a slight frown, pulling back to inspect Niall’s face. “Please, tell me you got something. Anything.”

“You really were bored, weren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t joke about that.” And Harry looks about as annoyed as he can, without looking upset.

“Well, I do have that charity event going…” Niall starts off with a shrug of his shoulder and a smile flittering across his features, “You could come too. Preparations are all done and it’ll be tomorrow. It’s for special invites only,” and Niall sees the knowing look in Harry’s eyes and nods his head, “Yeah, only those that can afford it. Income limit at least 100.000£ per month. We need people that can afford to spend a lot of money and only them.”

Harry raises his eyebrows, mouth-angles pulling downwards. “Ni, no offence, it doesn’t sound all that fun.”

“Better than work, innit?”

Harry really considers that, because a charity event, really? That’s the best Niall has got for him? A _charity event_? Harry spends money on charity, yes, a lot actually. But they usually are quite dull and nothing that could spark his interest, let alone distract him from his boring schedule. No distraction that he desperately looks for. “Don’t even know, mate. Ain’t it gonna be quite boring again?”

Niall snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah, thanks… don’t sugar coat your words, give it to me straight.”

Harry rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his brown curls, “’M serious, Niall. I can spend money, yeah… but I don’t think I wanna go. I mean… tis’all so dull, y’know?”

Niall knows, yes, but he also is a bit offended that Harry thinks so low of the majorly high-class events he organizes. So he’s determined to get Harry to come to this one and prove him wrong. It’s a matter of pride, now. “This one’s gonna be different, though. I bet you, you’re gonna love it.”

Harry eyes Niall warily and okay, Niall’s pride is prickled, Harry can tell, because Niall has got that challenging gleam in his eyes and now he really wants Harry to come. Just great. Niall is about the most stubborn person Harry has ever met. Then again, the lad is Irish after all. Guess it’s in his blood to be stubborn like that. “Right, yeah, okay… I’ll come.” Harry then spontaneously decides, because going against Niall is tiring and draining in a way that the mere thought makes Harry give in. Also, he decides in mind, that he never promised how long he’ll stay, he’ll write a check, give cash if necessary and then go his merry way. Niall will never have to know.

Niall looks at Harry, debates in mind whether to speak up about what he obviously knows Harry must be thinking, but decides against it. Harry is coming to his event; the rest will solve itself when they are there. Harry doesn’t know the main part of the charity event, so that’s good. That’s great. Being Harry’s best mate since about birth – or at least preschool, Niall is very well informed about Harry generally. Including any form of preference Harry has. And he has every intention of using all those information to his and the charity event’s advantage. That’s what friends are for, right?

  
  


*

Harry lets out an exaggerated breath and glances at his bachelor friend, also billionaire, Liam Payne, only one year older than him and about equally successful. Though his company produces furnishings of any sort and is quite successful doing, so Harry owns the Hotel Line “At Styles’” and earned his own fortune with it. It is quite the story how both became so famous, when being so young, Harry merely 24, while Liam is 25. Both having met in high school. It’s a story that made it to front page, when revealed that both youngest bachelor billionaires went to school together. To top it off, both owned their success to themselves only, their parents being on an average level. Harry’s parents were both teachers, his mother teaching Math and Physics, while his father was specialized in Chemistry, Biology and History. Neither had ever expected their son to become as rich as he has, much less ever even considered it. The given fortune that Harry fondly shared with his parents was a surprise for both and altogether a bit overwhelming. His parents still work in their schools and only take the money he gives to put it into a bank account _just in case_. It feels saver to have a back-up in case of something happening, in case of Harry’s fortune slipping away.

While Liam’s parents, his father a dentist, his mother a housewife, had enough money to live a decent life, they had never that amount of overshare that their son’s company now provided them with. They never asked for it either, and similar to the Styles’ household they simply saved the given money and smiled proudly at what their son had achieved.

“Why the long face?” Liam smiles, brown hair chopped short to mere inches and grins at Harry with amusement. “Not into _another_ social event?” he has to laugh, because he drains the meeting quite a bit himself, but Niall is both their friends and if only for charity, Liam will go. It’s the right thing to do.

“No,” and Harry doesn’t disguise his frown. “’M really tired of’em. Can’t I just send the check and—“

“You promised Niall, Harry.”

And of course, Niall would spill that to Liam to get him to join in forces and get Harry to that silly charity event. Idiotic smart Irish. He knew that Liam would be all the loyal kind and drag Harry along. Fucking brilliant Irish, he is.

“Yeah, I promised.” Harry sighs in defeat, stares at his reflection with Armani suit and the dress shirt below – without a tie – and ruffles his hair slightly. He looks decent enough, doesn’t he?

Glancing at Liam’s usual _perfect to the toe_ -style, Harry shakes his head and chuckles. He’s good enough. Not reaching Liam’s level, but that he never did. He doesn’t try either. That’s too much of a hassle, really.

“Good, it’s for a good cause, Harry.” Liam reminds the curly haired male, as though he needed another reason to not ditch the event last minute. Which is quite thoughtful of Liam, seeing as Harry, admittedly, did consider that. Another brilliant idiot. Both guys know Harry obviously far too well.

“Stop it, I’m going.” Harry then says, deciding that okay, he will step foot into the building, smile at Niall, wave once or twice, write a big check and then leave. Yeah, that’s a decent plan that he’ll hang onto. It sounds pretty good. Maybe he’ll smile in-between for ten minutes, stays there for thirty minutes tops and then disappear. Sounds about perfect. Yeah.

  
  


*

Harry tries not to be impressed, but the dark shaded colours that focused all attention to the centre, the stage, and the satin curtains that hid whatever it is they hid behind the build-up stage, looked fantastic, to say the least. Niall had made sure to add little small details, such as on each table that were placed in the other room, with similar warm, cosy colours of dark red, dark blue mixing it with a bit black satin to keep it all in one tone. Silverware, chairs, table clothes, lamps, they all were opted to match each other in quite perfection and Harry had to admit that his friend had quite the eye for those kind of things. Even the napkins matched top-notch. It is close to ridiculous, how much the Irish had outdid himself this time. He’s never ever put that much effort into an event, well, not to say his other events weren’t brilliantly done, but this one was outstanding. The carpet even matched the colours of the room, and so did the wall’s dark colour.

Harry had not read the invitation through – else wise he’d seen the dress-code asking for black clothes all together. Well, good thing Harry never dresses too colourful for these kind of events and fits right in with his black Armani suit and simple white dress shirt to finish his look off.

So about twenty minutes have pass and so far Harry had not known what to do with himself. The first two minutes were spend in silent impressed grins and the following eighteen in internal complaints about being here. Niall did a brilliant job, indeed, but that didn’t do much to make Harry want to stay. Harry wasn’t so much the _social_ kind of person, when you ignore the times he is interested. When interested, Harry is charismatic, charming, _enchanting_ even, but that is really _only_ when he is interested. And Harry can’t remember the time he was last interested in someone enough to try to win them over. Has that even ever occurred?

For obvious reasons Harry is one of the most popular men at most events he attends. The obvious reasons being: he’s intelligent, young, good looking and straight out a damned _billionaire_. A self-made billionaire at that, which in this age of society is much more appreciated than the snotty heirs that did nothing for their fortune.

So when Harry finds himself crowded by quite a few women that he could not care less about, he pushes past them all, after writing down a generous amount onto a check and giving it to the flirty young female that must be something like the secretary at this event. She batted her eyelashes dramatically when he approached her, even flipped her blonde hair two times as though it would look good and smiled all sweet in a way that made Harry feel sick by its falseness. So what Harry does is press the check into her hands to do his share of charity and turns on his heels as though the devil himself if chasing him. Which would probably less infuriating than that annoying secretary’s burning stare on his back.

Another thing Harry disliked about these _social events_ , people who thought they knew him and his life, thought they could take advantage of him being young and supposedly naïve. But naivety doesn’t get you to where Harry is today. Doesn’t get you to the top.

It’s a little like suffocating, surrounded by all the falseness off every person in the room. Harry really can feel his heart trying to flee and so he does walk to the one place that resembles a bit of an escape, the balcony that looked about empty, hidden behind satin curtains. Niall’s obviously got a thing for those.

Breathing out in relief Harry then inhales the fresh hair, hitting his nostrils and is about to walk to the railing when he stops dead in his track by the figure leaning against the side of the balcony. Well, shit. He hasn’t seen that one.

Harry steps forward and evokes a low sound from the stony floor and then the stranger turns his head to meet Harry’s face.

It feels like the wind is being knocked out of him, as Harry stares and tries to take in, but really can’t. The stranger’s features were so strong against the darkness that Harry has a hard time breathing, in fact, does not breathe. He’s simply mesmerized.

Strikingly rich depths of sapphire that shone bright in the darkness, high cheek bones, inviting lips that do not give away any form of emotion, feathery chestnut hair, sun-kissed skin and Harry wasn’t sure what specific part it is, or the mixture of all, but he’s a complete goner. He’s never been hit as hard as that moment, completely and utterly struck with lightning. That lightning in form of undeniable desire.

The silence that settles around the two feels somewhat nice and enthralling; and Harry cannot place why he really wants to hear this stranger’s voice. But it’s that thought that initiates him speaking up and taking a few steps to close their distance. “Evening,” and Harry feels frankly fatuitous for saying it, but it is frankly the only word coming to mind, when faced with perfection like him. He barely notes that the stranger wears a bit too casual clothes to belong to this high society event. At least he follows the theme colour of black.

A glint of a smile crosses the stranger’s features, lights it momentarily, before dimming again and the indifferent façade resurfacing, “Evening,” he replies, hints of mocking in his voice, but indifference all over his face.

Harry is not sure why, but the way that simple word rolled off this stranger’s tongue, should certainly not ignite any form of lust in Harry. But it does, and he feels his body react directly to this stranger’s velvety, melodic voice, as though in trance, like a starved thirsting for water, desperately and instant.

“You’re beautiful.” It’s so true, Harry can’t even find himself to regret the words and simply stares, tries to take in and mesmerize every inch of perfection himself.

“Yeah?” the stranger responds, a smile ghosting over his lips. His sapphire eyes flash in a way that Harry cannot take an understanding to, but mesmerizes him regardless.

Harry merely nods, finds the question in response ridiculous, because what else would this stranger be, if not beautiful?

“Yeah, you’re breath-taking.” Harry honestly continues, because who is he to deny the utter truth, when it’s so bluntly obvious in this very situation. The stranger laughs in response, mouth momentarily twitching, until forming that loud laugh, eyes crinkling by the sides. Harry has never seen anything more beautiful and is struck about how true that statement it.

A laugh never sounded so thrilling and endearing as this stranger’s did just then. And Harry finds his heart skipping a beat and smile in response, because the sound does something to his heart and is just _that_ contagious.

Once the laughter has faded, the stranger smiles, and okay, _now_ Harry has never seen anything more beautiful and he inhales slowly to keep breathing at all. “I try, thanks.” His voice is all warm and honey and Harry finds himself ridiculously close to bite his lip like a little school girl and fan over this male. It’s so ridiculously close to what Harry wants to do that he’s glad no one can read his mind and see the ridiculousness that are his thoughts. The foolish drunkenness that comes from absolutely no drop of intoxicating beverage, but this one stranger’s enthralling ways instead.

“Do you, really?” Harry replies and smiles as though he’s completely calm and collected, but his heartbeat betrays him by beating about twice its usual pace.

“No,” the smile is now fully prominent, as well as his British accent and Harry is a goner. “But it felt appropriate to say some of that sort.” The stranger continues, eyes brighter than before and flashes of mirth dancing in the depths of sapphire that had Harry completely at a loss of words.

The silence that once more settles between the two males is welcomed on both behalves, for Harry really is at a loss and never felt more foolish in his life. Harry is a determined man, never too lost to have the last word, but right here _right now_ he is completely lost and no words on the tip of his tongue to save him. Every witty comeback, every funny sentence to ever tumble out of his mouth has disappeared to a place Harry could not reach and his mind being blank, thanks to Mr Delicious over here, has him silent, even though he’d love to keep the conversation going.

“You’re not much of a talker?”

Harry wants to laugh, wants to snort, because he’s very much of a talker. Knows how to hold back, when he’s about to rant, but he is definitely a talker. Known for many witty, funny things he’s said in life and maybe a bit proud of them. He’s a speech-holder, even. Right now he’s simply star-struck, though.

“You’re very… distracting.” Harry says that with all charm he can compose with his mind going on overdrive in one way and in another being completely blank and _just too much_.

“I am?” the grin that spreads on the stranger’s lips his both endearing and amused and makes Harry want to sink his teeth into those lips, just to see them redden more. And taste them.

“Very much, yeah.” Since his mind doesn’t properly work, Harry opts for whatever words simply leave his lips, because he by now really can’t think of any smart response to begin with. Admittedly, he is not in control of himself at this very moment, but he blames that on the perfection few feet away from him and the way his lips twitch upwards and the motions tugs so obviously at his heart that Harry just knows he _wants_ him.

“I take that as a compliment.” He flashes Harry a brief smile, perky whites on full display. Harry might have taken a deep breath, because that certainly is a bit too much. More than Harry can take.

“It is,” Harry assures and he feels almost foolishly entranced with this stranger that is as mysterious as he’s beautiful, because throughout this short conversation, he had not once slip any form of information about himself, not even a name to address him with. “What’s your name?”

“You really want to know?”

Harry tries not to let the frown take over his features by the choice of words. “I do, why else would I be asking?”

“Just making sure.” And again Harry is greeted with perky whites that light up this stranger’s whole face. God, too much. Right here, right now, Harry really wants him. Against the wall, on the ground, against the railing, only a few feet away from people that could walk through the satin black curtains and catch them and god, for a man with Harry’s name and status, that thought should not sound as thrilling and tempting as it undeniably does.

Harry moves closer, because he _has to_ close that distance between the two. Moves completely on instinct and bites his bottom lip, when he slots their bodies together, without so much as a second thought.

“What…” the laugh that follows might’ve been the most beautiful thing Harry’s ever heart, because his heartbeat accelerates, his breathing hitches and he might have been lost once more. Trapped in this stranger’s entrancing smile and bright sapphire eyes. “Are you doing…?” Mr Irresistible breathes out, smiles as though he’s incredibly amused and oh god, Harry might need some physical resistance, if he doesn’t plan on jumping this male in about the next ten seconds.

“Just…” how is he supposed to explain something that he, himself, doesn’t understand? Harry keeps silent, looks at Louis and feels something strange tug at his insides. “I really wanted to touch you. S’all.” Harry surprises himself by admitting, feeling a ghost of a smile on his own lips.

The stranger, all forbiddenly beautiful, throws his head back and laughs and he looked as enticing as he was beautiful.

“You’re one interesting man,” the stranger comes to the conclusion, eyes filled with mirth and amusement. “And my name is—”

“Oh god, _there_ you are!” a voice interrupts and Harry wants to kill, just because. He recognizes the familiar Irish accent though, and internally groans, when indeed Niall steps into view and rushes to the stranger’s side. “Christ, I’ve been looking all over for you! You gotta get ready!” and he’s a bit more flustered than is normal, as his pale face is adorned with a soft blush.

“Sorry,” Mr Irresistible replies, smiles in an apologetic way and glances at Harry, “I was distracted.” And then Niall falls victim for the full display of pearly whites, as he takes Niall’s hand. “Let’s go back, yeah? I’ve been told to follow your lead.”

Niall nods his head, lets out a relieved sigh, “Yeah… c’mon.” the Irish smiles apologetically at Harry, as though apologizing for ruining things for him and then takes Mr Irresistible by the hand and drags him away. Harry might’ve felt something in his insides twist uncomfortably by the sight, despite knowing of Niall’s sexual preferences.

  
  


*

“Why so grumpy?” Liam wonders, cocking his head to the side, when Harry walks up next to Liam.

“Niall took away the only interesting thing that this event had to offer.” Harry replies, a bit irritated, breathing slowly in and out. He shouldn’t be as annoyed with his Irish friend as he undeniably is. But he can’t help it. And what the hell is Liam doing with that silly paper cut in hand that they’ve all been given when entering the place. Harry didn’t think much of the number on his own black paper, with the white ink, hasn’t even looked at the paper and simply stuffed it into his pockets. He can’t bring himself to notice the fact that everyone around him is wearing black, as demanded and holds strictly onto the dress code.

Just then the lights dim a little, focusing on the build-up stage, where Niall stands, microphone in hand and a professional smile gracing his lips. “Good evening, everyone… thanks so much for coming!” he starts off, and for all that Harry loves the Irish for, he knows this speech can only be boring and about his gratitude about the attendance list.

“Since I don’t want to bore you all, I’m just going to explain how the main event of this event works, okay?” he hears few laughter from the audience and grins back, confidence in his sky blue eyes. “So, each of you got a paper cut at the entrance with a number on it. That number is your identity number.” He pauses, lets the information sink in, “This is rather simple. It’s an auction. You see something on stage that you like, then lift your hand with the paper cut in it and name your price, if necessary. That’s all there’s to it, really. Of course, all the money will be given to charities.” He flashes the audience his signature smile and waves them off, as another male comes onto stage, a male that Harry recognizes as Josh Devine, a former class mate of his. Niall mentioned knowing him, but Harry never suspected to set eyes on him again.

“Evening, everyone!” he grins, flashes his teeth, “My name’s Josh and I’ll lead tonight’s auction…” he exclaims and motions toward the closed curtains behind him, “And without further ado, here comes our first,” he smirks, “ _object_.”

The curtains open just enough for a person to step through. She looks vaguely familiar, but Harry by no means can place that face and blonde hair. She has wavy blonde hair, cascading down her shoulders to her shoulders, a wide smile gracing her lips and hazel eyes. She wears a black, elegant dress that underlines her curves perfectly. She’s hot, no doubt.

“Is that… _Demi Lovato_?” Liam mutters beside him, eyes wide, voice incredulous. Okay, yes, that name sounds familiar. Harry is not sure who she is, but judging by Liam’s reaction she must be some sort of celebrity. He watches as she waves shyly into the audience and glances Josh’s way. Waiting for a moment too long, Harry finally realizes that Demi Lovato is that so called object of auction and has to bite back a laugh at that. They sell people now?

“One Dinner of your choice with this lovely lady, DEMI LOVATO!” Josh shouts, loud enough for everyone to hear as he motions toward her and smiles, “She’s an actress, a singer, she dances and last she’s judged at the American X-Factor show. She’s funny, smart, beautiful – as you can see – and she’s got an angelic voice… let’s start the bidding with 50,000£!”

Instantly shouts fill the room and hands are lifted into the air and the number of money offered for one sort of date with Ms Demi Lovato raises to about 550,000£, to which a Lord smiles, when having the last word and winning her time. Harry shakes his head, because is she really worth so much money?

The show continues like that, names that somewhat ring a bell in Harry’s ear and sounds vaguely familiar are called and the faces somewhat match in the back of Harry’s mind, but he can’t bring himself to remember them properly. Josh, like the time with Demi, lists her profession and her pros and then starts the bidding with the starting price of, apparently 50,000£.

Among them Perrie Edwards, a famous musician Harry assumes, Nick Grimshaw from BBC Radio 1 (now _that guy_ Harry recognizes), Giselle Bündchen (okay, so she doesn’t sound familiar], Selena Gomez (was that someone Disney-ish?), Miranda Kerr, Zac Efron (an actor, right?), Logan Lerman, David Beckham (now this guy Harry definitely recognizes by name _and_ looks), Angelina Jolie (let’s be honest, everyone knows her), even Johnny Depp (he’s a legend, isn’t he?), Taylor Lautner (who is this?!), Jack Gyllenhall, Gwenyth Paltrow and Charlize Therone (one hot woman, this one) and about ten more that barely are registered in Harry’s mind. The list goes on and by every passing name, Liam’s mouth seems to drop more and more. So many celebrities in one place is even for Harry a new experience. He can somewhat understand his friend’s complete shock.

Josh smiles, teeth white, “So, we have two more…” he starts off, smiles mysteriously, “LET’S GIVE IT UP FOR ZAYN MALIK!” he shouts, causing cheering from the audience and Harry notices some people going a bit more crazy than he grades normal.

Stepping onto the stage is a tall, lean, tanned male, raven hair up in quiff, a confident smile on his lips as he winks into the crowd and promptly answers with giggles and loud chatter that sounds so unbelievable that Harry has a hard time grasping that. He is undeniably handsome – broody, dark and mysterious. The black clothes on him only underline those striking characteristics. Black, like all the other celebrities that looked about familiarly dashing. Even though admittedly, this one looks maybe a bit better than the rest that Harry’s had seen on that stage. Something about that sharp face, gold chocolate eyes and smooth lips, maybe.

“He’s modelled ever since he’s turned 14 and gained worldwide success. He’s been the lead model for campaigns of Hilfiger, Kors, Prada, Chanel, Boss, Armani and plenty more…” Josh introduces the male – apparently Zayn – and smiles. Ah, a model, that explains it. “One night in his room – let’s start the bidding with 200,000£, alright?” the loud cheers that Josh receives in response is answer enough and he grins wide.

Liam may have squealed at that, but Harry decides to focus on the stage and watch the happenings.

The bidding starts and the money rises fast from 200,000 to 1,200,000£ in a fast pace and with heated shouts, which is the highest amount yet, if Harry is not mistaken. The woman that buys Zayn in the end, smiles proud and excited. “And Zayn goes to… the lady with the lucky number 7!” Josh exclaims into the microphone and the mentioned woman bursts into excited giggles. Harry raises a brow about her incredibly immature behaviour, and notes to himself that Liam, at some point, has raised his paper cut as well, and smiles, because that will be held against him. If only by Harry himself.

“And now,” Josh sounds louder than before, more excited, “this evening’s special object…” a smirk forms on his lips, “GIVE IT UP FOR LOUIS TOMLINSON!” If Harry had thought the extremes were reached when Zayn stepped onto the stage, he’s clearly misunderstood, because when the mentioned guy steps onto the stage, the screams that surround him are surreal and deafening and about multiplied by a thousand and _oh_.

Onto the stage steps a male, clothed in white and completely conspicuous in the room filled with people dressed in black. His moves sensual, seductive and his charm spreading through the room like toxic that pulls all into his spell. Without needing to actually look at the face, Harry recognizes the male, the way he stands, moves and _yeah, okay_ , when reaching the face, Harry really knows why everyone has basically screamed. Of course, Harry would find the one person interesting, that about owns everyone’s heart.

Bright sapphire depths, lean long legs that are underlined by the tight white jeans and bloody hell, no one should look like sin like that. No one. White is supposed to be the colour of innocence, so why does this Louis – _fuck_ , that name suits– look like pure sex?

His lips, oh god. His lips a touch of pink, curved up into a sexy, somewhat breath-taking smile and his high cheekbones could cut glass and, fuck. Again Harry is faced with that feeling, from which his head and heart both scream _just too fucking much_! And it is, it feels like standing in the presence of Mr Pure-Sex-on-legs is the biggest challenge of Harry’s life. Because he wants to get onto that stage, press Louis – _okay_ , he _really_ likes the sound of his name– against the curtains and ravish him, until he writhers and trembles underneath him, helpless and needy and desperate and comes all over Harry and, fuck, he really needs to get his lips on _this_.

So Harry has missed Josh’s long introduction, because he was spell-bound by Louis’ looks and charm and smile and mirth in his sapphire depths altogether and snaps out of the staring, when the bidding starts.

“400,000£!” he hears someone not too far from him exclaim and stares at the greasy guy that has done the move. He looks like a mafia boss. Old, greasy and _not good enough_ for Louis.

“Do I hear 450,000£?” Josh asks, smiling and watching two hands flit upwards. “Number 12 and 32.” He exclaims, chuckling, “Only one person, so… any higher bids? How about 500,000£ for this lovely lad?” he grins, motions toward Louis, who smiles at the crowd as though he’s genuinely amused about all this. And whatever it is with his facials, evokes the crowd to react more, because 4 more hands shoot upwards and wave their paper cuts in the air.

“Oh wow, someone is popular…” Josh muses in amusement, counts the bids upwards in 50,000£-steps until they reach 850,000£ and Josh asks confidently, “Anyone up for 900,000£ for this young man? Remember, a _whole weekend_ with him!” Josh adds, trying to evoke the crowd to continue bidding higher and higher for their most precious _possession_ of the auction.

“1,000,000£!” a voice from behind the curtain exclaims and out steps no other than Nick Grimshaw, who smirks, placing his arm around Louis’ shoulder. Harry feels the depths of his throat forming an animalistic growl and tries to fight the urge.

Josh turns his head, surprise evident in his eyes, but then he sees Nick and grins slightly, going along with it. “Yeah? Okay, everybody… Nick Grimshaw bids with a proud amount of ONE MILLION POUNDS! Anyone bidding higher?” he pauses, watching the silence evoke around them and nods his head, as though having expected that reaction. “Alright, One Million – the first,” he pauses, slamming a small hammer onto his podium, tentatively glancing around. He then raises his hand and is about to slam the hammer with a “second” onto the podium desk again, but halts mid-air, because someone lifts their paper cut.

It’s that sleazy old mafia boss and Harry instinctively shudders by the thought of that male having one weekend with what should be Harry’s. “1,100,000£!” he points out, smile smug and victorious, when he eyes Louis up and down in a manner that really makes Harry’s veins go cold and ignites a burning rage in his heart.

Nick, still having his arm around Louis’ shoulder smirks, “1,200,000£!” he says, smirk on his face, when seeing the Mafia Boss glare at him openly. He nuzzles Louis’ cheek with his nose and grins, wanting to provoke.

Harry glances around, watches Josh go from tentative to surprised and lifts his little hammer again, “Anyone bidding higher? 1,200,000£ - the first!” he exclaims, pounding the hammer onto the podium desk. He’s greeted with silence and counts to three seconds in silence, before lifting his hammer again, “the second,” and slams the hammer back onto the podium desk, evoking the same loud, echoing sound. His eyes flicker around the room, after three seconds of utter silence he lifts his hand again, about to slam it onto the podium desk again, “the thir—”

“TWO MILLION POUNDS!” Harry’s voice echoes into the dead silence of the room and everyone turns to look at him, as Harry lazily waves his black paper cut with a “9” in the air.

Liam’s mouth literally gaps open when staring openly at his supposedly best friend, who looks indifferent in the motion.

Josh looks shocked and tries to regain composure, his eyes needing yet to return to their real size, “Um, what?” he says, sounding shocked and confused. “Did I hear you correctly, Number 9?” he wonders, squinting his eyes and trying to make out who is the owner of that kind of money. He nearly laughs, when recognizing his former school mate, Harry Styles, _who would’ve thought_.

“You heard right,” Harry confirms, jade eyes confident and resting on Louis only, “I’ll pay two million pounds for a weekend with him.” He utters, if only to make Josh realize that he means it all. “That’s the offer, right? A weekend with him?” he asks for confirmation, eyes not once leaving Louis’ hypnotizing and thrilling body that still gives off those pheromones that make Harry a bit blind for lust and desire and, shit, a weekend is never enough to fill his needs for that kind of body. A life time probably wouldn’t be enough. And Harry is surprised that the thought of a life time and another person combined doesn’t scare him. In fact, it sounds a bit too thrilling, too inviting. Much like Louis himself. With his eyes directed now at Harry, a smile that does something weird to Harry’s insides, all bright and twinkling like a Disney Princess, Harry is convinced Louis not real. No one like _that_ is real.

Josh, still trying to get back to normal eye-size, nods his head, trying to process, “Right. Okay, two millions – the first, the second,” he barely pauses, because no one is going to bid higher than that and they all know it. “The third – SOLD!” he shouts, slamming his hammer onto the podium desk and smiles, “To the man with the number 9 in the back!” he exclaims and points briefly at Harry before focusing on the audience again.

“So, this was the special event, everybody… I hope you all bought some _thing_ ,” Josh winks, “And enjoy all!” with that and a wave, Louis turns with Nick around and Josh follows; they all disappear behind the black thick curtains, to where Harry’s eyes can’t follow.

Harry comforts himself with the fact that he has one entire weekend with Louis and smiles by the thought. It’s silly, but he can’t bite it back. It’s a bit maddening how real and wide his smile is.

“Harry…” Liam’s voice is still shock-stricken, when he speaks up, soft hazel eyes still wide.

“Yeah, Liam?” Harry knows what Liam wants to say, but if he really wants to know, he has to utter the question first.

“Did you just… did you—”

Oh what the hell. “Yeah, I did.” Harry interrupts, because Liam stuttering gets boring pretty fast. Unless he’s flustered and in love, but that’s a different story, entirely.

“But why… I don’t—”

“I _want_ him, Liam.” Okay, Harry couldn’t have put it any blunter than he’s just done. Seeing Liam’s look of disbelief in response, he feels the need to clarify, “It’s just… he’s got _something_ , y’know?” beside the sinful good looks and those pheromones that he spreads with his mere presence, which makes people want to jump him.

Liam’s eyes have about the size of saucers, “You _what_?”

“It’s really that simple.” It is at least to Harry. “And now I have a weekend to have him.” If only to in his defence, Harry adds with a nonchalant shrug, “Plus, it’s for a good cause.”

  
  


*

“You generous little fucker.” Louis greets him, and Harry may be awfully fond of the way Louis’ eyes twinkle in the light and the way his hair is artfully tousled and his smile too wide to match his face. He skips toward Harry. _Skips_. Smile unexplainably wide and bright and _oh_ , something deep down in Harry’s stomach reacts to that sight. He can’t even bring himself to care that his –somewhat– possession just insulted him. Then again, Louis’ voice had sounded velvety melodic and incredibly fond, so Harry is awfully happy even if being insulted, somewhat. Was that even an insult?

Harry can’t bring himself to think of it anymore, when suddenly Louis’ arms are around him, and Harry is overly aware of their height-difference and is that really supposed to turn him on? It does, _shit_.

Harry finds himself returning the embrace, eyes wandering to this bright male that is not only conspicuous due to him being the only one dressed in white, but because, fuck, he’s gorgeous and warm and endearing and split-face-smiling and _too much_.

“Thanks, love” he hears a soft whisper in his ear, voice sincere and bubbly and happy. Harry craves that sound a little too much for his liking, voice too excited to contain and breath caressing his ear. He likes that a lot. A lot more than Harry is willing to admit to himself just yet.

“Welcome,” he finds himself smiling in response, because Louis is just _that_ infectious. “So, how does this work?” Harry asks, once feeling Louis unwrap his hands from around Harry’s neck –he ignores the loss he feels– and looks down at Louis. Is Harry really _that_ into height difference? Fucking hell.

Louis’ eyes, up close, are from a strikingly rich sapphire, having a beam of their own and overshadowing anything else’ beauty, his cheek bones and that wide smile too much and his artfully tousled hair about as inviting as his lush lips. “You can take me _anywhere_ you want, love. I’ll be all willing.” Was that an invitation for sex or Harry’s imagination? He’ll be _all willing_? The thought itself, had Harry tightening his fists to keep from pressing Louis against the wall and ravish and take right here, right now.

Louis still has to look up and that fact still turns Harry on _so fucking much_.

“I can… keep you for the weekend.” Harry has a bit of trouble wrapping his head around that thought, because. Because it’s this too-beautiful-for-Harry’s-heart Louis that is apparently _his_ for the weekend.

“That’s the deal,” the smile does not dim and reaches his eyes and he’s just so beautiful.

“Okay,” Harry breathes out, feels very breathless already and a bit weak in the knees and smiles, because he really likes the thought. “Where do you want to go?”

Louis eyes, still bright, still so intoxicatingly happy, “I get to _choose_?” he wonders, cocking his head and looking awfully adorable and innocent doing so. As adorable and innocent as this human form of sex itself can look, and a bit too tempting, for Harry’s abdomen not to react at all.

“Yeah,” Harry replies, breath a bit short, swallows, because Louis is so close and so up in his space right now and looking up at him and _too fucking much_.

Louis smiles impossibly wide now, bites the inside of his cheek to hold back, “You’re…” he shakes his head, as though not believing it, “Thank you. I’d love to see Italy.”

Harry cocks his head to the side, surprise clearly evident in his jade orbs. He’s expected a more extravagant wish, to be all honest. Maybe South Africa, Australia, North America, just farer, but as it seems, Louis looks brilliant and brightly happy by the thought of Italy. So Harry nods his head in response, anything to evoke that too wide smile and contagious feeling of bubbly happiness. “Okay, Italy It is.”

  
  


*

Harry is not sure how he’s gotten into this position, but he finds himself seated in his private jet, this too blindingly gorgeous male next to him and he starts to seriously doubt this is real, when the human version of perfection leans his head onto his shoulder and is asleep. He wants to take a picture and save the moment, wants to inhale this intoxicating scent of cinnamon and something undefinable for as long as he breathes. He also wants to kill himself a bit, because this form of blindingly painful infatuation –and Harry’s finally surrendered to the obviousness of his feelings– is new to him. It’s new and frankly scary.

He lets out an exaggerated sigh, finds himself smiling idiotically fond at Louis’ tanned hand and oh god, this is not supposed to happen. Harry is not supposed to be a fool for a gorgeous male that is blindingly obvious out of his league and plainly _bought_ for the weekend.

His gaze drifts to Louis’ face, close to his, eyelashes awfully long and dark and Harry is reminded of _how_ fucking gorgeous he is. He likes the way Louis feels leaning against him, likes that he evokes that warm tingling in his stomach and he not only likes Louis’ body, he likes just being with him. Despite not properly knowing him. Despite having bought him. Shit. “I’m losing my mind.” Harry wants to laugh and little of him maybe wants to cry, because… _What is he even doing_? Flying this stranger –that he _bought_ – to Italy, just because he wanted to see him smile all bright and happy again? There is so much wrong in that sentence.

And then a fluttering of awfully long eyelashes distracts Harry and he finds himself looking at the hypnotizing sapphire depths from up-close.

“M’sorry… d’I fall’sleep?” his voice is a bit raspy, his eyes only half open and Harry has never seen anything more adorable in his life.

“Yeah, you did.” He can’t keep the smile off his face, wants to just suffocate Louis with tight hugs and pepper his perfect faces with kisses.

“R’ly sorry…” his voice is low and velvet and when he actually rubs his eyes with his fists, Harry dies a little. “Dint sleep much the last—” he interrupts himself to yawn and looks apologetically at Harry, his eyes opening a bit wider, yet hazy with sleep. “—few nights.” He finishes off, smiling sleepily at Harry, before snuggling his head onto Harry’s shoulder like it belongs there. “’nd you’re awf’ly comfy too…” he means to say it accusingly, but it ends up muffled and barely above a whisper, when he curls into Harry’s side and is all warm and soft against Harry.

Instinctively he wraps his arm around Louis’ figure that seems awfully small in his arm and lets himself ease into the other body, enjoy the touch and warmth Louis’ body provides and finds himself leaning his head onto Louis’ and his eyes dropping closed.

**Author's Note:**

> I just devided this oneshot into 2 parts, because I'm editing the second half. But I hope you liked the first half of it, regardless.   
> If possible, please leave your opinion in a comment below, I'd really appreciate it :)  
> Thanks for reading, have a lovely day!:*
> 
> -E


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